Page 26 of The Perfect Ingredient
Jean moans as if struck by an electric jolt, his entire body seizing against the counter. I press a hand to the small of his back to steady him, but my eyes are locked on Hessou—on his mouth tracing soft, maddening circles around Jean’s rim, histongue pressing in, seeking out the berry nestled closest to the edge.
He pulls it out with his mouth.
A raspberry, crushed and dripping, deep red against his teeth. He turns to me with a look of delight and offers it with his tongue, holding it there like a gift.
I lean down and eat it right from him, our lips smearing with sweet juice. The flavor hits my mouth in a burst—fruit, salt, heat—and I groan aloud.
More.
I bury my face in the mess, licking slow swipes through the melting cream. I feel Hessou’s lips bump against mine as we both try to suck the same stripe of salt-sweet slickness from Jean’s inner thigh.
We laugh, and return to the warmth of Jean’s hole. “Push for me, just a little,” I say, and Jean does, yielding another berry.
Hessou takes it from me greedily, licking my lips afterward like he’s trying to coax me into feeding him more.
And I do.
A raspberry. Then a mulberry. We pass them between us, painting our saliva in deep reds and purples, chewing them with mouths open, mess dripping from chins, sweet juice and cream and Jean all mixed into a mess of lust and appetite.
I’m drunk on it.
I fish out one last piece of fruit with my tongue and rise on trembling legs, my breath shuddering. I step around to face Jean.
His eyes meet mine, unfocused and teary.
I cup his cheek and push my thumb between his lips, prying his mouth open to feed him the berry from my own mouth, andhe moans as our lips meet. The fruit squishes between us, juice and cream leaking from the corners of our mouths. We kiss, smearing each other with the sweet, messy proof of what we’ve made of him.
Behind him, Hessou has returned to his work.
His hand slips between Jean’s cheeks again, probing gently, his tongue following to lap away any trace of the fruit left behind.
Jean’s knees buckle. He makes a sound into my mouth that’s somewhere between a cry and a plea. I swallow it whole.
“Let me fuck you?” I ask against his mouth.
Jean looks at me with glazed eyes and lips that are wet, pink and bitten. But his voice is clear, soft but certain.
“Yes,please.It… it feelsso good,” he says, voice filled with wonder. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”
I brush hair away from his forehead, kiss the sweat there, and smile.
“You’re perfect.”
I move behind him, guiding him to keep one knee propped on the stool. He’s already soft and open, the cream and berries having done their beautiful damage. His hole glistens, swollen and messy and inviting.
I stroke my cock once, and guide myself into him.
He gasps.
His body yields to me inch by inch, and I feel the cream inside him, warmed to a silken heat. It coats my cock, binding us together, and I moan at the sensation, at the absurd rightness of it.
It feels like being swallowed by something holy.
“You’re so good,” I whisper, kissing his spine. “So perfect.”
Jean moans, bracing himself, his hips rocking back.
Hessou’s hand lands on my hip. Then my back.
